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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073527">Bro(c)ken Spectre</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItCanBePalped/pseuds/ItCanBePalped'>ItCanBePalped</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, F/M, Flower language but I don't know what I'm doing, Ghosts, Making up German magical culture, Slow Burn, The desire for physical affection, The harrowing ordeal of healing, The wonder of relationships in all their variations, Time Travel, lgbtq+</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:08:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItCanBePalped/pseuds/ItCanBePalped</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It certainly wasn't Hermione's intention to be separated from Harry and flung back in time, but she will make do with the resources provided to her. Hogwarts seems the most logical place to wait for Harry, at least as long as it takes for her to find a reliable way to locate him, and so she integrates herself into a small group of German refugee children being carted off to Scotland. Her tasks should be easy enough, even accounting for the need to avoid being on Tom Riddle's radar, though she was not accounting for the weird bond thrust upon her by one of the young refugees.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger &amp; Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue - Yarrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is really ultimately just some self indulgence. I had a bunch of weird ideas and thought I'd challenge myself to incorporate them all in a way that doesn't feel too goofy, and really play around with the universe. Not all magic is Latin, not all families would send their children off to foreign countries for schooling, not all things have the same symbolism everywhere. We'll see how she goes!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“These are yarrow,” Harry’s voice gently carried, “also called the nosebleed plant or soldier’s woundwort.” Hermione walked slowly beside him through the flowers, letting her fingers catch against the soft, white petals while a smile unfurled on her face. His enthusiasm, though much softer in the years following the final battle at Hogwarts, was unmistakable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Even the Muggles have used it in medicine- it staunches the flow of blood, y’see,” he continued, reaching out his own hands to trace the blossoms, “Healer training had us incorporate it in loads of different ways in our potions, it can be used to stabilize a blood replenishing potion and make it effective even if you’re not especially good or precise when it comes to brewing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione let her smile curve into a teasing smirk, “Listen to you spouting off about your education, I knew you were lying about how much you hated studying.” Her mirth was quickly quelled at the sudden blankness that overtook her friend’s face and she released a quick breath through her nose. She extended her right hand further to grasp his left and used the motion to both step closer to Harry and draw his hand to her face. With a quick glance to the white scar, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I must not tell lies</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she quickly placed three kisses across the back of his hand in a practiced pattern, a silent apology.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes caught the easy smile Harry sent her and he responded in his own particular way with three squeezes like syllables- </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s-o-kay</span>
  </em>
  <span>- then tapping his thumb twice against her hand before releasing. Trauma had not been an exclusive domain of the war, they knew as well as their classmates did that the school they called home for seven years was just as tainted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wind grazed the field, easily guided down the mountainside and between the two lines of forest, and Hermione lifted her hands upward as if greeting an old friend. The sun above was unimpeded by clouds, and the cooler air was a welcome reprieve from the heat and did some work towards drying the sweat from her exposed skin. Reaching over to ruffle her companion’s hair, Hermione gave his neck a friendly squeeze before dutifully bringing them back into their discussion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Does it need to be harvested in any specific way? A particular tool or moon phase maybe?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Honestly, it’s a brilliant ingredient because of how low maintenance it is- just a quick pluck or cut and you’re good to go,” He tilted his head contemplatively, “though I suppose you do have to do so with intent and with the thought of healing in mind. You could buy it from a Muggle and still use it, but a mage who picked it with intent will have a more potent plant to use.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shall we collect some? We can set up camp on the other side of the woods ahead at the base of the mountain. Maybe make an easy night of it and climb up to try and observe tomorrow.” She let her hands gently drop back to the tops of the clustered flowers, enjoying the gentle stimulation against her skin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry dragged his knuckles gently against her forearm and looked over to her, “I wouldn’t say no, but I don’t want you to put off your research on my account, ‘Mione.” She wrinkled her nose at the nickname goodnaturedly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been told I need to relax and loosen the reins,” his snickering response was only partially muffled by the wind but she marshalled onwards, “and since self-paced, privately funded research projects don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>explicitly</span>
  </em>
  <span> have time constraints, I think I can squeeze in some ingredient collection and a lazy evening with a friend.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both grinned as they knocked arms together, Harry reaffirming, “Remember. Pick with intent and </span>
  <em>
    <span>think healing thoughts</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Mission accepted, they both set to work firmly picking clusters of the soft plant as they began to veer towards the approaching treeline. Hermione embraced the peace of the field, warm from the sun, soothed by the softness of the nature around them- full in the way no feast could accomplish.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The expectations for the trio had been suffocating. Ron and Harry both found themselves hounded with training and job offers from the Aurors, while it seemed every department at the Ministry of Magic wanted to get their hooks in Hermione one way or another. Maybe, she thought, these offers would have been the exact thing to capture their attention at an earlier time, but war has a distinct way of changing people both during and after the fact.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry’s brief death gouged the remaining bit of Voldemort’s corroded soul from him. The insidious scrap had been, unintentionally, placed by a man so mad and so angry that it tainted Harry himself and exacerbated his aggression- especially during his already hormonal teens. His resurrection, unimpeded by someone else’s emotional baggage, brought him peace and clarity in a way he had never thought to enjoy before. Harry would, and did, fight, but a life continually defined by pain and death lead him not to more of the same with the Aurors, but an opportunity to heal himself and others- following a mandatory two years of training at St. Mungo’s, of course.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ron, though often feeling trapped in the shadows of his siblings, had always loved his family. The fractured state of it combined with the uncomfortable reality of the spotlight had driven him home- not out of cowardice, but out of love and strength. Gone were the days of the metaphorical teaspoon, he had matured emotionally beyond anyone’s expectations. The jealousy of his youth easily turned to pride and support, and Ron grew into his own place with the family.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione similarly had no taste for being in the public eye. Knowledge was still important to her, combined with the desire for privacy, and so research felt like the next reasonable step. She was a witch, at any rate, and easily had another 130 years of life to continue her battles for equity and justice. She could be excused for this comparatively short self-indulgence. That was why she was here, in the middle of some uninhabited part of Germany. Ron was busy settling into his new role with George at Weasley’s Wizardly Wheezes, so she was joined only by the newly pinned Healer Potter on a sort of pre-career holiday.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In no time at all the duo reached the treeline and began diligently stuffing their harvest into their respective bags. The trees in this segment of the woods didn’t seem terribly old, and their view of the other edge was minimally impeded. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve been making good time, Harry,” Hermione began, sounding somewhat guilty, “and we could probably still climb up the mountain after setting up camp. The sun sets so late in summer, and sunset is one of the best times for visibility of the phenomenon. There’s clouds starting to roll in too, so really conditions will be about as optimal as they can get.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders with easy familiarity and gave her arm a solid rub before squeezing her close, “Absolutely not a problem. We could set up camp in our sleep if we needed to. Anyways, you’ve got me curious now too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, it really is fascinating Harry. It’s a phenomenon that even Muggles have observed! Modern Muggles understand it to be a magnified shadow, even their own, cast against clouds or fog by the sun,” Hermioned babbled as she mindless retrieved a tent from her beaded bag while Harry silently erected their usual cocktail of wards, “and often the light goes through the water droplets in the clouds to create a sort of rainbow halo called a glory.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Earlier Muggles thought that the shadow they saw was an observer or a spectre, and it had quite a bit of religious association with it. It’s named for a specific location here in Germany, they call it a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brocken</span>
  </em>
  <span> spectre,” she carefully formed the foreign word, “and it was actually identified in a time when the border between Muggles and mages was, eh, fuzzier, so it’s called the same thing in our community. What Muggles don’t know is that it actually is more than just an odd trick of the light! The </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> exciting thing is that the magical aspect of it is still ripe for research,” she pointedly ignored his snort, “and your botanical discovery earlier proves that we’re on the right track.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry hummed thoughtfully as they began to pick their way up the small remainder of the mountain, “What does the yarrow have to do with the Brocken spectre?” His broad hand cupped her elbow to aid her scramble over some rocks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It acts as a sort of magical plaster- you’re correct that yarrow can be used directly in relation to blood and healing. But magic isn’t something intangible- it has a very real physical presence. You’ve probably been physically feeling it,” she gestured loosely to the curls on her head that were extending and clinging as if under the influence of static electricity, “since we cleared the field of flowers. Yarrow often naturally occurs around areas of high magic because it can also staunch the flow of magic. Nature heals itself and adapts, magic does too. It’s not quite a Muggle repellent, but this environment would feel like stepping into a growing electrical storm for them, so it’s at least a bit of a deterrent.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The crested the rounded top of the small mountain with little fanfare just as the sun began its golden descent behind them. As if it had been waiting for guests, a dense fog rolled over them cutting off the sun and wind, immediately chilling the sweat on their skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> you know about this spectre?” Harry seemed ill at ease.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, not terribly much. There are some theories that it is actually a sort of… window for an observer to look in. Others think it may be a portal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shifted so that their arms were touching, “That is not a lot to go on, ‘Mione…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hooking her pinky around his, she gave him a friendly tug, “We’re not doing anything crazy. Just observing, taking notes. There are some low-risk tests, but I won’t be running those until the observation phase is complete on another day.” She could feel some of the tension evaporating beside her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, a miniscule flash of light drew their attention, like a sun’s ray catching in a raindrop. It seemed to vibrate for a short moment before suddenly spinning and expanding in a brilliant array of colors. Harry gasped softly beside her, but Hermione couldn’t tear her eyes away from the beautiful display. In the blink of an eye a shadowed silhouette appeared at the glory’s epicenter and remained inert.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The magic around them felt like a blanket, slowly and almost imperceptibly increasing in weight. Hermione startled at the sudden, loud snaps erupting from her hair, the static seeming determined to upgrade to electricity. Harry shuffled back. Even the slight movement felt like wading through molasses.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione, we need to go.” She silently agreed even as she struggled to make any kind of moment. The wind returned abruptly, lashing violently, and she felt her stomach sink when she realized that the glory was steadily increasing in size- or was it creeping closer?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a sudden roar the duo stumbled to their knees and uncontrollably rolled forwards. Hermione panicked as Harry’s foot touched the center of the glory and reached for his own outstretched hand. Their fingertips touched, a searing, white-hot pain, and with a final flare the glory shrank into itself like a small imploding sun.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The wall of fog dropped heavily and dispersed. The mountaintop was empty.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1 - Clover</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>At first, Hermione just saw white. She honestly wasn’t sure if her eyes were open or closed, but it didn’t seem to matter. Eventually, the white shifted to flashing colors and she distantly realized her eyes must be open- how else would she be able to perceive what was happening? The light show was painful and made her head and her eyes ache and it was beautiful. It was disturbing but in a muted sort of way, and she felt like she was five and watching the tunnel scene from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Willy Wonka &amp; the Chocolate Factory</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her parents for the first time, only there were no warm bodies to press against and take comfort from.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow the trip seemed to both last an age and pass in the blink of an eye. What followed almost felt like being spit out, and the moment her heel caught on the ground she felt like she was ripped through space. Her second contact with the ground turned into a full tumble as she rolled into some rocks near a familiar tree line.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All at once Hermione was able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> again, which was quite the miserable affair as she had not been aware she </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> feeling anything. Her skin felt as if attacked by a millions needles and the loose feel of her teeth was accompanied by a metallic taste. She blinked rapidly in a futile attempt to moisturize her tortured eyes, which seemed just wrong- sore as if from pressure and itchy in a way that she was sure could be traced to broken blood vessels.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione found that she was able to focus her vision better as the sun began its descent and cast long shadows from behind the mountain that she was sure she had been atop not too long ago. A weary glance around her immediate location struck momentary confusion. She was almost entirely sure this was the location she and Harry had set up their camp. Not only was the area lacking a tent or even evidence of there having been one, there was not even the slightest wisp of Harry’s familiar magic. More time must have passed than she thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sudden motion caught her eye. A quick shadow between the trees. Noise further into the wood. She stumbled to her feet clutching her wand and supposed she could thank the very recent muscle memory of the war for being able to push down her nausea and ignore the now deeper throb of her headache. Another quick movement drew her eye towards her right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a boy. Well, possibly not quite a boy, but certainly not yet a man. Certainly not what she imagined a German to look like. He wasn’t the stereotypical tall blonde, but rather barely taller than her, a disheveled mop of curly hair not too dissimilar to her own barring the length, and he looked just how she felt- battered, bruised, and not a little bloody.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sind Sie verletzt?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m sor- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Entschuldigung-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, English. Not a problem.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shuffled forward and closer towards her, gaze flitting back towards the rapidly approaching noise deeper in the shadows of the trees he had just exited.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is not safe here, you must go. You are a witch, yes? That will make travel easy.” His nervousness was palpable as he walked backwards towards her, “I know where we can go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though she felt unsettled in his presence, she had a fraction of a second to laud herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the therapy is helping, you really are healing if you don’t consider everyone a threat, </span>
  </em>
  <span>before the young man fixed his eyes on her again. In the rapidly growing shadow cast by the mountain behind her, his eyes looked like black pits, empty of any emotion save pure desperation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With speed she could not match in her injured state, he closed one hand over her own holding the wand and cupped her cheek with the other. The relief of his cold, dry hands was not enough to distract from the searing pain in her head. She remained conscious enough to feel him twist their bodies in a mockery of a dance and almost thought she could hear a soft apology murmured over the pop of apparition.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she next found herself awake, she was pleased to find that her ails had settled into a grey area of mere discomfort. She didn’t feel anxious, so she assumed someone, maybe the disquieting young man, had seen towards treating her wounds rather than her adrenaline numbing the pain. Opening her eyes felt like a struggle, and her left eye in particular felt itchy in a way that she knew it must still be completely bloodshot, but she didn’t have the same issue with focus as before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This unfortunately meant that she could only blame her dulling instincts for how long it took her to realize that she was not sitting alone in the moderately lit room she now found herself in. Across from her sat an older woman, frizzing grey hair floating around her head like a cloud. She looked soft, almost doughy, and had blunt, reddened fingers gripping the skirt of her simple dress in a way that freed her legs into being more mobile from the leg down. Her face looked friendly, if tense, with ruddy cheeks and a wide mouth, but her brown eyes were sharp and clever and locked on her every movement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frau </span>
  </em>
  <span>Emmeline Weber but we call her </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tante </span>
  </em>
  <span>Emmi. I am Johannes.” Hermione took care to slowly turn towards the sound of the young man’s voice on her left. In the soft light from the nearby hearth </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly this is a magical abode, the fire isn’t heating the room in the slightest</span>
  </em>
  <span> his eyes seemed softer. She was pleased to see his contrition spelled clearly across his face, but remained generally uneasy with how intently he was focused on her and just how washed out he looked. A slow glance to the right, past Frau Weber, revealed a doorway filled with numerous small, curious faces who immediately retreated upon discovery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gently clearing her throat and swiping her dry tongue over her even drier lips, Hermione addressed the elder witch across from her, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hallo Frau Weber. Sprechen Sie englisch?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Her focus on the choppy feel of the foreign words in her mouth nearly caused her to miss the twitch of Frau Weber’s nigh invisible eyebrows. Her clever eyes flicked for just a short moment towards the young man and seemed to gaze right past him before she returned her focus to the younger witch across from her. Hermione felt smug. Surprising the stranger before her even with her limited German made her feel like she had regained some power in this exchange, albeit limited.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know enough.” Where Johannes had just enough affectation to his speech to sound vaguely English, Frau Weber’s warbling voice held a strong German accent. She relaxed her hands against her skirt and tilted her head to give Hermione a more assessing look. “How do you know my name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Surely she is joking</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione thought and resolved to keep her anxiety further in check. Becoming anxious now would just lead to losing her temper. She could not afford to be anything less than cool and collected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I understand. Johannes has just introduced you,” she waved to the young man in question, “my name is Hermione Granger, please call me Hermione.” While this wasn’t the wrong thing to say, it seemed it also wasn’t the right thing to say. Frau Weber stiffened and straightened her back, and suddenly she didn’t look so soft and friendly anymore. She hadn’t appeared to be tall, and still didn’t, but her presence suddenly felt twice as big as before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione felt her wide eyed gaze flutter back to Johannes, beseeching him. Rather than look at her, he was giving the elder witch his full attention. His gaze seemed desperate or hungry, but the edge from their initial interaction was gone. Seemingly in a blink, she suddenly found him standing next to her, hand outstretched. She felt like she was at a loss. Not seeing the harm, Hermione slipped her own sweating hand into his cool one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The harm certainly wasn’t seen, but it was felt, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sharp</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>sudden</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her splitting headache returned with a vengeance and she felt something tickle her upper lip, her nose must have started bleeding. Black spots danced in her vision, her eyes felt like they were shaking from the desperate attempt to focus on anything. Johannes himself seemed to waver and she fancied she could somehow see through him for a moment. Turning to Frau Weber felt like it was tearing at the muscles in her neck, but it allowed her to vaguely make out the look of horror on the older woman’s face. She seemed to shrink into herself and looked the part of an elderly woman once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Realizing belatedly and with great frustration that she was on the cusp of passing out, </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Hermione followed the sudden drop of Frau Weber shoulders as she exhaled flowering clovers in a heavy sigh. Her warbling voice was the last thing she heard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ach Hanni, du Narr. Was hast du nur getan.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The second time Hermione woke up, the light in the hearth was lower and she was flat on a cot. Considering her view was much the same, she assumed her seat from earlier had been transfigured. Frau Weber was sat on a stool, stirring something in a cauldron hung close to the fire, while a slip of a girl leaned against her back. Her dirty blonde curls hung messily to her chin and with a start Hermione realized that she was being stared at by familiar brown eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Across the room from the pair Johannes was curled tightly in on himself, a mere lump sat against the wall. He looked devastated as he focused on the small girl, mouth pulled into a grim line. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She has his eyes,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>they must be related somehow</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Though he seemed solid enough for the time being, her uneasiness seemed to have doubled and she felt terribly lost as she tried to regroup and figure out her own situation again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johannes glanced over to her cot, grim countenance still firmly in place. He unfolded himself awkwardly, all elbows and knees, and seemed to glide closer to her. The blonde girl's eyes flickered in his general direction, and though she seemed to focus and catch on him a time or two, Hermione suddenly felt grim herself. The girl couldn’t see Johannes. Frau Weber hadn’t been able to either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face morphed into a wince, and the slightly curl of a self-deprecating smile turned his mouth, “You understand now. I am sorry, my intention was not to cause you pain. But you were the first to see me and I needed your help.” He ran his washed out hand through his curls in frustration, “I feel I have had so much time to prepare an explanation but maybe simple is best.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lowered himself and searched her eyes for something. He nodded, seeming to have found what he was looking for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am a ghost, and I think I have tethered myself to you.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Clover is a useful little plant- it smells sweet, it's blossoms and leaves are edible, it's full of nutrients and vitamins, it's commonly used to feed livestock, it's ~popular~ with honeybees, and they're also pretty!</p><p>Translations for the German in the order it occurred:</p><p>"Are you injured?"<br/>"Excuse me"<br/>"Hello Ms/Madam Weber. Do you speak English?"<br/>"Oh Hanni, you fool. What have you done."</p><p>Tante is Aunt, absorbed from French.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 2 - St. John's Wort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hermione wanted to be proud of how in control of her temper she was following Johannes’ bizarre confession, but truly she felt a bit more flabbergasted than anything. As a witch she, obviously, wasn’t questioning the existence of ghosts. It was more the existence of this specific ghost, and how odd it seemed to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She initially did not believe Johannes, as his hands had been very solid, if cold, up until this point. But then Lotte exited the room after a lingering, rough hug from Frau Weber and walked right through him with a sudden shiver. The purpose of Lotte’s presence was explained with a simple statement confirming her relationship to Johannes- his younger sister. She had dutifully plucked a hair from her head which was promptly dropped into the cauldron that the elderly witch had been working at. Hermione had thought she was preparing dinner, as the scent drifting over had been of a savory broth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A potion, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Before we talk more, we have to make the thread more strong,” Frau Weber warbled over, before adding some comments in German to the room at large for Johannes to translate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He drifted somewhat closer but maintained some distance at Hermione’s sharp look, “Tante Emmi says that our current connection is too volatile and inconsistent. She has made a potion that can strengthen our tether.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would much rather </span>
  <em>
    <span>sever</span>
  </em>
  <span> this connection,” Hermione hissed with a glower to the ghost near her. Frau Weber sighed and shook her head as she reached over for some dried, yellow flowers near her station. She turned to give Hermione an appraising look while her thumb pressed the petals firmly into her palm before rolling them off and into the cauldron.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That can only happen if you lose your life,” she called over her shoulder, attention once more on her potion, “or if you can fix the problem that keeps Hanni here.” Hermione felt as if her spine stiffened vertebrae by vertebrae at this proclamation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I refuse to believe that these are the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>options,” she bit out, “and </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> is that potion.” Frau Weber had begun to ladle the potion in preparation of bringing it over to where Hermione was sitting. She felt nervous and naked without her wand and leaned back into the further corner when the witch joined her on the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will not force you to drink this. But I will encourage you to. It is a bit of a potion but also a bit of dinner. Bone broth for the,” she paused to test a word in German, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kollagene</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Collagen?” Hermione tried, before repeating Johannes’ nod for Frau Weber’s benefit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, for the collagen. It helps with connection. A hair from Lotte’s head because she is Hanni’s last living relative and tells the connection where to go.” Her round face drooped at this final statement, misty eyes scanning the room for the curly haired boy that eluded seemingly everyone except for Hermione.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>Johanneskraut </span>
  </em>
  <span>for stability.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hypericum perforatum</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Johannes chirped helpfully. St. John’s wort.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hanni should be able to show himself even if he does not touch you,” Frau Weber continued, offering the bowl over to Hermione, “so if he needs to touch this means his connection is not so good. You should not hurt from this- talking will be more easy if you do not bleed from the nose and fall asleep again.” Hermione wasn’t sure what expression she made, but the witch placed the bowl firmly in her hands and stood up with little fuss before crossing the room to her supplies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She came back and presented her ruddy hand once more to the younger witch, this time with something more recognizable in her palm, “Here, I think you know this? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ein Bezoar</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Please take it if you are worried.” The word, while accented, was as familiar to Hermione as the item itself. She took the item tentatively after freeing one hand and sighed once deeply. Looking into the bowl didn’t reveal any wildly colored concoction of a potion, but truly just looked like bone broth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Might as well, at least I shouldn’t end up poisoned.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One hesitant sip was followed by stronger drags of the liquid as the rich, salty broth crossed her tongue. Hermione didn’t realize how hungry and thirsty she was until this moment, though she thought even after this bowl she would likely still have an appetite. Finishing her last gulp she was surprised by the floral aftertaste that lingered in her mouth. She was struck by a sudden, warm feeling in her stomach (familiar) and a warm, tingling sensation between her ears (decidedly less familiar.) A quick glance around showed Johannes looking the same as he had been, but Frau Weber’s wandering gaze finally had something to catch on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hat es funktioniert</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he asked aloud, grinning victoriously when the elderly woman nodded. Hermione politely looked away from her rapidly flushing face as she mopped away fat tears with a handkerchief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you visible for good now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think I am. I had to will myself to be seen. It feels like it is pulling at me- you will maybe feel it too if I do this too long. We are tethered so it would make sense.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frau Weber crumpled her handkerchief with a tightening of her blunt fingers and cleared her throat for attention. “I will explain, now. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>auf deutsch</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I think my English is almost all used up. Hanni, translate please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the enduring spirit of German efficacy, Frau Weber breaks her explanation into points and expounds upon them in turn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghosts, as it turns out, were a touch more complex than Hermione had assumed. The tether Johannes had mentioned multiple times over the course of the last few hours was a completely normal aspect of those that lingered in their afterlife. To keep a ghost in the plane of the living, a tether must connect a ghost to magic. This most commonly happened near magical buildings, as they often had a sentience all their own from the constant cycling of magic. Certain natural locations contained enough magic to keep ghosts tethered- Stonehenge was an example closer to home for Hermione, and though it wasn’t mentioned she was sure the site of the spectre was a similar location. More rarely, ghosts could tether themselves to humans so long as they had magical cores.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johannes is less complex, but instead tragic. She was not prepared for the nature of his nor it’s time frame. He had been killed by dark wizards, moments before Hermione came tumbling into the treeline. Frau Weber had been at the site as well, but had ferried Lotte and the other children in her care away posthaste. The group had been making its way north in secret, on the run as it were, when some magic use drew the attention of their antagonists. The intention had been to make enough of a distraction that the whole entourage could bid a hasty retreat, but Johannes found himself an unfortunate victim in the crossfire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s appearance was completely unexpected. Johannes used their connection to force an apparition to his sisters location, the strain of the poor tether being enough to cause her to lose consciousness the first time for that evening. Her injured state and dramatic, crumpled entrance was a shock, but Frau Weber reassured that her trustworthiness had been confirmed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Erdhenne</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t make any noise when you arrived- it would have called out if you were a threat.”)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sudden magic meant their location was compromised, of course, but by then their camp had already been packed and ready to move onwards, so they continued further before setting up wards and settling in for the night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frau Weber’s information was direct, but not so efficient to still Hermione’s mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Minding her manners, Hermione prefaced her questions with condolences for Johannes’ recent passing and apologized for the spanner her sudden appearance threw into their plans. “I don’t understand what you mean with dark wizards. I don’t believe the German Ministry of Magic would have cleared my work if there was an entire gang of dark wizards roaming about. Will you let me reach out to them? For my own sake, and for yours of course. It was a despicable event to have happened to you all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johannes’s face darkened and his gaze intensified while Frau Weber’s weariness washed over her entire frame. They exchanged a look full of silent communication before she cleared her throat into her handkerchief and turned back to Hermione.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do not think you understand, Hermione,” she rasped, “And I do not know how you come to be in Germany if you say you deal with the ministry to do so. They are no help- they are why we are fleeing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young witch felt her stomach swoop suddenly and felt a nervous sweat break out on her temples. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Surely there would be more than a two year break between dark wizards infiltrating ministries?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She dropped the bezoar on her lap before she nervously rubbed her palms against the velveteen pile of the couch under her and dropped her gaze to study the autumnal pattern of the fabric. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How could Harry’s intuition fail us like that? He’d never have let me go on this trip, let alone joined me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So these dark wizards were sent by the ministry?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do not pretend we are so important that they are hunting </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span> specifically,” Johannes interrupted the matron with a scoff full of arrogant youth, “but they certainly work for the ministry, and they would be happy to capture us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione gulped a breath before braving eye contact with the other witch, “Is nothing being done about this?” Frau Weber’s eyes sharpened as she returned her gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I think there is. But our greatest hope is in Scotland,” Hermione perked up at this bit of news, “school, for the children. I have secured entry into magical Britain for myself and the children as refugees. There is also talk that a wizard lives there who is powerful enough to turn the tide of battle.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry will be displeased to have another country turn look to him as a savior,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione thought grimly. Frau Weber stretched her shoulders before continuing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, more news and more details are difficult to get while we are here and running. Things are more difficult with there being active war in both the magical and the not-magical world.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione choked in her surprise before rasping out her next line of inquiry, “Wars? What wars?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johannes and Frau Weber did not look like relations until this point in time, when they both shot her bewildered stares. After a moment of heavy silence, Johannes leaned closer to her and provided the most perplexing of answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Second World War for them, and Grindelwald’s Global Wizard War for us.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>St. John's Wort has been used in traditional medicine to treat depression, and is occasionally still used in modern times to help with mood stabilizing.</p><p>Erdhenne - literal translation is 'earth hen'. It's a German house spirit that would cluck to signify danger but otherwise remain invisible. Somewhat similar to the grim, seeing it would usual foretell death of someone in the household.</p><p>We've got a couple more chapters before we're back in familiar territory, thank you everyone who has been leaving kudos and comments so far. I'll be adjusting tags and possibly the rating as this story continues, too. It will be a biiiit of a slow burn, though, so the (fuzzy) Tomione feels are still a ways away.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 3 - Baby's Breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Though Hermione wanted to have a sense of pride in how well she took the news of her unintentional time travel well the night before, she registered distantly that her smooth acceptance was more than likely down to being in shock. While the concept of time travel wasn’t one she was unfamiliar with, it was the distance traveled and the mode of transportation that made her nervous.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In third year she had been satisfied with the explanation that short time jumps were feasible because they were simply closed loops. She couldn’t turn back time to go to class because she had overslept and missed that class according to witnesses. As she got older and her intelligence grew into maturity, she couldn’t say that she agreed. She thought of time travel more as a way to rewind to a point in order to instead follow a different branching path- decisions cause splits that branch, which lead to other realities where further decisions split and branch, and so on and so on, creating something she visualized as a weird hybrid between a tree and a fractal.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her initial instinct had been to get herself to the British Ministry of Magic and connect with someone in the Department of Mysteries to see about going home. The light of morning brought to mind some issues with that plan. The most salient point at the very top of her pyramid of priorities was that she had no clue where Harry ended up- they were both sucked into the spectre and ultimately separated. Her best bet to find him was to wait for him at a familiar and safe location, which was, almost without exception, Hogwarts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next point was that, after the absolute mess that was their lived experience in the magical world so far, Hermione could firmly say that she didn’t trust the Ministry and was very confident Harry was in the same boat. Additionally, if she rushed to the Ministry before finding Harry it was very likely that they would not be willing to wait for their reunification before any attempts at forwarding them to the time in which they belonged. She’d certainly have to conduct some research of her own and perhaps begin some experimentation and development to follow. That was another point for getting to Hogwarts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The lowest priority item on her current list was also the easiest to take care of. The finger tip that had touched Harry’s finger while being hoovered into the portal was a swollen red and hot to the touch. It was almost as if she’d burned herself on a pan fresh out of the oven. Hermione was almost certain that if left to heal non-magically she would be missing a fingerprint. While Frau Weber was perhaps an unconventional potioneer, she was one nonetheless and would likely have a salve to help heal it. Hermione still was wandless and thus far hadn’t had any luck healing herself wandlessly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rising from the couch, Hermione shuffled across the worn carpet and to the door. The light from the window had made clear that the day was well underway, so she prepared herself for what might be a longer search. Opening the door she was met by a shock of familiar blonde curls. Shifting her gaze down she recognized the solemn, peaky face from the evening before- Johannes’ sister, Lotte.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hallo,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she began apprehensively, hoping that the younger girl would follow the pattern of English fluency she’d come across so far. A flicker in the hallway drew her gaze up to find her ghostly brother gazing forlornly at the blonde, solid and saturated in a way that Hermione now understood to mean that he was invisible to others.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning. I would like to see my brother,” Lotte said softly accented, pausing before seeming to recall her manners, “Please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johannes’ face brightened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unsure of how to proceed, Hermione grasped the girl’s thin hand and pointed her gaze over to the apparition of her brother, “He is right there, can you see him?” Lotte’s dark eyes did as they had the night before, just barely pausing on where Johannes was standing but unable to catch. The young man in question closed his eyes and affected a strained expression. He briefly seemed to desaturate, long enough for Lotte to get a fix on where he was standing and for Hermione to get a piercing headache, but was ultimately unable to maintain visibility.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we pushed our connection too hard last night during our long discussion,” he grumbled with a darkened expression, “it will maybe require acclimation.” He moved swiftly and suddenly to stand before Hermione and reached out his hand as if to place it on her shoulder. She quickly dropped Lotte’s hand and took some steps back, feeling her own thunderous expression come to surface.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“With as </span>
  <em>
    <span>painful </span>
  </em>
  <span>and damaging as contact has been thus far,” she hissed, “I’ll thank you to ask for </span>
  <em>
    <span>consent</span>
  </em>
  <span> before touching me again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His own eyes darkened again, burning, “My sister needs me. She is the priority.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione could feel the tell tale sparks shooting from her curls, “She is </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> priority, and I am my own person. Our tether does not give you free reign to do as you please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lotte had taken the time to walk back towards Hermione and grasp her hand again, and gave her a small smile. “Hanni,” she admonished, soft yet firm, “Papa would be so very disappointed in your manners. Tante Emmi will also be upset when I tell her.” Immediately Johannes looked chagrined, countenance softening. He took an unnecessary breath and gazed back up to meet Hermione’s own eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry Hermione. May I please touch you to speak with my sister?” While appreciative of the ghost asking permission, Hermione was famously stubborn as always and felt inclined to deny his request. She could admit, though, that the small, warm hand in her own did wonders to soften her heart. Lotte had been polite from the start, and had a soft sweetness that reminded her a bit of Luna.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You may. But please be mindful of the strain.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johannes murmured his appreciation and held out his own hand. Hermione appreciated the gesture for what it was and clasped his cool hand with her free one. The headache from his earlier attempt at visibility which had begun to dull returned with a vengeance, along with a pressure in her left eye, while all at once he became grey and translucent. She felt a pang in her chest at the loving warmth as his gaze met that of his sister.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Na, mein Spatz?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Even his voice sounded warmer, and Hermione followed his gaze to see Lotte smiling up at her brother, dark eyes blurring behind tears yet to fall. She froze when she saw the girl exhale unsteadily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As if watching a time-lapse video, clusters of baby’s breath seemed to bud, bloom, spread, then vanish before the girl’s face on each of her exhales. Hermione thought she could even smell the ghost of its perfume in the air.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shocked, she retracted both hands, ignoring Johannes’ darkened expression in favor of trying to catch another glimpse of the flowers going through a rapid life cycle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that?” she asked, trying to moderate the shrill quality of her voice. At the twin gazes of confusion she elaborated, “Was that accidental magic? I saw her breathe out flowers. I think I saw Frau Weber do that last night too but just assumed I was seeing things.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johannes’ brow furrowed in contemplation at the same time that Lotte’s face brightened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What kind did you see?” she asked, wiping distractedly at the tears in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Baby’s breath,” Hermioned answered, sharply turning her gaze to Johannes when she realized his voice had been an echo of her own just now. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Lotte smile to herself, gently pleased.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His voice softened, “It stands for innocence and love.” His eyes briefly flickered over to his sister, mouth betraying a hint of a smile, before returning to herself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care about the meaning, I just want to know why it happened,” Hermione demanded, agitated by the way the numbness of her general shock was starting to fray.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johannes scoffed at her, “You should care. It’s how I divine someone’s true nature or intention.” He rolled his eyes at the surely spectacular expression of disbelief she could feel her face contort to. “It is a skill I’ve had my whole life. It occurs time and again in my family tree.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tilted his head and considered her briefly, “You saw flowers with Tante Emmi, you said. Considering when you saw her flowers it was probably clover.” He smirked when he saw Hermione stiffen minutely. “Clover means nurturing, I see it often with family or caregivers.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johannes slowly offered up his hand again, expression softened to a questioning smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The siblings had a brief catch-up, in German, before Lotte again took her hand and led Hermione along to find Frau Weber. The room she had rested in opened to a long, narrow hallway, windows on one side and doors on the other in a manner almost reminiscent of a train. The end of the hallway opened up to a cozy kitchen, set up in a manner she considered antiquated and typical for a magical household, with a door across the way that seemed to lead to the outside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Upon opening the door, there were three narrow steps until her feet touched the grass and her field of vision opened up to a flowered meadow to her right and the edge of a forest to her left. It wasn’t the field of yarrow from yesterday (fifty-odd years from now?) and as far as she could tell there was no sign of the alpine foothills her journey had started in. Turning in place to try and gain a better understanding of her physical location, she was quietly surprised to see that the structure she had exited was a modest caravan. While internally it housed a number of rooms, externally it looked perhaps large enough for a single bed and perhaps some storage. Magic. If the Weasley’s could build a house that looked like Sleeping Beauty’s leaning cake and keep it structurally sound, there was no reason a powerful witch couldn’t enchant a house to look like a measly carriage.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of hushed voices set Hermione’s feet in motion as she walked towards the other end of the caravan. It was, understandably, unhitched, and a twin pair of grey-brown cows were grazing nearby. The voices revealed themselves to be Frau Weber and a small gaggle of children who she recognized as having peered curiously into the room she was recovering in the night before. Two boys and a girl who appeared to be close in age to Lotte appeared to be doing assignments, reading out of a shared book and occasionally whispering questions to the matron.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frau Weber was multitasking, filling the space around her instruction with an enormous pile of laundry with the (questionable) help of a young boy no older than six, while near her a young lady who appeared closer in age to Hermione herself was organizing and preparing newly gathered potions ingredients. Upon being spotted, Frau Weber nodded at the younger girl and gestured for her to join her studying peers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione, I am glad to see you moving. How do you feel?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The curly haired witch offered a stiff smile, “I slept well, thank you for letting me sleep in somewhat. I was wondering if I could ask for my wand back from you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The elder witch frowned, eyes tight, “I am sorry, my dear. It was broken when you came to us. I have it’s parts for you, but I do not believe it will be of very much use.” Hermione sucked in a breath ignoring the pitying looks of her ghostly companion and the young woman nearby. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There is no time to mourn,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, ignoring the sting in her eyes and the increasing tension in her shoulders, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have to just take steps forward as I can.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I see. Thank you, I would like that. In that case, is there anything I could ask you to do for this odd burn on my finger? I’d like to offer myself for chores as a thank you for your help and perhaps discuss with you what some of my opportunities going forward are.” She refused to acknowledge the watery layer to her speech, but Frau Weber appeared polite enough not to touch upon it. She said something to the young boy at her feet in a firm tone softened by the gentle smile on her wide lips, before stuffing her hands into her apron and walking over to Hermione.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her left hand was extracted first, gently retrieving shards of wood clinging desperately to a dragon heartstring. Hermione swallowed. It was magic itself that had allowed for Hermione and so many other victims of confiscation during the Second Wizarding War to be reunited with their own wands. While she had been able to master Bellatrix’s wand out of necessity, it felt tainted in relation to her own magic- the reunion with her own wand was one of the few things that went right in her personal life after all was said and done. Vinewood, 10 ¾” long, dragonheart string. The first thing that truly made her understand that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>belonged</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the magical world, reduced to some splinters and a potion ingredient of questionable use. Hermione swallowed again, willing herself to at least appear calm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frau Weber’s right hand was extracted next, not holding a wand but instead holding a smooth stone, russet and slashed with beige veins. Her ruddy fingers smoothed over it in a practiced motion as she motioned for Hermione to show her injured finger. A final glance revealed that the stone was shaped vaguely like a pig, perhaps losing its shape from being so care-worn, before Hermione focused in to see what the older witch would do to help. Faint ochre smoke furled around her injured finger, pain dissipating though its appearance remained mostly unchanged save the sudden deflating sensation that removed the swelling. The weird smoke looked so alien, unlike the magic she had grown accustomed to. But it still felt familiar, and that was enough for now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This feels better?” the older witch questioned, giving her hand a warm squeeze at the mumbled affirmative. “Good, hale hands mean you can earn your keep. I value hard work and think that there is value in doing things the non-magical way. You can chop the wood over there and we will discuss some things.” Hermione snorted at the relieved sigh that drifted over from the young woman sorting dried herbs and shared a shy smile with her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking out her arms to loosen her muscles, Hermione secretly thought that the physical exertion might prove to be a good outlet for her feelings. Johannes was hovering behind his sister and the other kids, but she could see the jolly impertinence of his glittery eyes and smile as he watched her work.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pausing to budget her breath, she decided to begin the conversation on her own terms, “Are you able to give me any guidance or help to get to Scotland? I was separated from a friend and he knows to meet me near Hogwarts.” Frau Weber’s ever-clever eyes considered her from over a sheet she was pulling to rights with her adolescent assistant.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think there is much at work, Hermione,” she warbled, “that is putting you into our path. I am fleeing with the children, my brother’s students and young Fritz.” She nodded to the white-haired boy in front of her, who turned his freckled face up at the older lady in confusion, likely only understanding his own name. “Durmstrang is not safe for them at this time, and my brother long feared that Beauxbaton would also be dangerous because of both ongoing wars. Hogwarts and its Headmaster Dippet have offered me sanctuary on school grounds. The children, those old enough, will be enrolled in the new school year.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her wide mouth was easier to smile than Hermione had initially thought it to be, as the elder witch offered her another warm glance, “You are welcome to travel with us. I would ask if you could do something in exchange.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She knew her immediate response was overeager but wasn’t in the mental space to modulate herself with a high-priority item close enough to grasp, “Yes of course, within reason. What would you ask of me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is not a small ask,” Frau Weber continued, voice firming, “Hanni was meant to enroll in his seventh year. I would ask you take his place and keep an eye on my children. Surely you will be able to do so at the same time as whatever you are doing to find your friend.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-well. That would certainly remove a barrier for me. I was hoping to utilize their library for research. But how would this possibly work?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frau Weber smiled again, “Identity is verified by wand. I think the tether between you and Hanni means that it would respond to you without needing to be won. And with your dark curls and eyes you truly look like you could be one of the Hausmannin siblings. Appearance is easy to alter and it does not require flashy magic which might be made to fail.” Hermione paused her chopping again, using the momentary break from straining her arms to look back over at Johannes and Lotte. Both gazed her way, twin gazes of brown almost as deep as her own. Their curls were certainly riotous enough to give her own a run for their money, and Johannes’ hair looked as if it was a close match to her own in life, though his generally desaturated appearance left room for some variance in tone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looking down, Hermione could even see how they might disguise her as a young man with some ease. She was taller than average, broad shouldered from swimming, still struggling to regain weight and padding from her time starving during the war. Nothing exaggeratedly womanly about her figure, easy enough to hide with a vest and the multiple layers of the Hogwarts uniform. A curl twisted before her eyes on the breeze. She’d certainly need a haircut to round it all out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Choosing to humor her for now, she voiced a concern floating in the forefront of her mind, “And what makes you trust me well enough to ask me to do this?” Frau Weber did not answer immediately, setting the last of the laundry into her overflowing basket and sending little blonde Fritz to go help with supply sorting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It does not feel exactly the same, but your magic is sympathetic to what I have felt from the siblings. Hanni,” she called out generally, not bothering to pretend to know where to send her inquiry, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>was für Blumen? Von der Hermione.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hermione recognized that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blumen </span>
  </em>
  <span>was very likely ‘flower’ or ‘flowers’, and found herself suddenly curious as to what kind of flowers the ghost had seen her exhale to personify her intent. Johannes smiled at her, expression truly warm for the first time directed at her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She blinked and found him before her, hand hovering over her shoulder. At her discrete nod, she watched what little life he had in her eyes retreat as he became a spectre everyone in the field could see. Lotte and Frau Weber were both unmoved, but Hermione saw Fritz tuck his face behind the young woman he was now assisting and heard Lotte’s peers give small gasps.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I see sunflowers- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sonnenblumen</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Loyalty.” Frau Weber interjected.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And I see </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eberesche</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorbus torminalis.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Rowan.” Hermione translated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Protection.” Frau Weber affirmed.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The rock Frau Weber pulls out is jasper! The Ancient Greeks thought wearing it granted harmony. A German scientist from the medieval period, Conrad Gessner, said "Jasper is a shield before the chest, the sword in the hand and the snake underfoot. It protects from all sickness and refreshes the spirit, heart, and mind." Sounds like a pretty good stone for a cool old lady to have. It is pig shaped because pigs are lucky symbols or talismans in Germany. Also pigs are pretty neat.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 4 - Wormwood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next week passed with little excitement. Hermione’s hair was cut the same evening as she had been given back the pieces of her wand and she still felt light-headed much of the time. On a positive note, at least, the boyish 1940’s cut bared her ears and neck to the cooling breeze. While initially concerned about her pierced lobes, luck had it that it was common for German witches and wizards alike to pierce their ears when formal schooling commenced. Johannes’ clothing fit her surprisingly well, needing only minimal adjustments to account for her slimmer build, and on Frau Weber’s recommendation she was acclimating to her false identity by exclusively wearing the young man’s shirts and trousers and training herself to respond to his nickname.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her lucky streak seemed happy enough to continue, and she found that Johannes’ wand was a surprisingly good match. It didn’t feel quite as good as her own, but certainly far better than Bellatrix’s wand had. It was made of larch and maybe half an inch longer than her own, with a core she had not previously heard of- a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tatzelwurm</span>
  </em>
  <span> whisker. Her new friend and peer (“Katarzyna Lisowska, but please call me Kasia”) informed her that it was dragon-like with a cat’s face, which made it a close enough relation to her own core to ease the transition of ownership. Or so Hermione had come to assume.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their travel northward was painstakingly slow, and Hermione was sure that they would only just arrive on time for the upcoming school year. The caravan had cauldrons and ingredients aplenty, but the issue of textbooks remained. She had suggested ordering by owl, but the simultaneous muggle and magical wars made everything more dangerous than Hermione had initially assumed. They had to avoid populated areas from both sides, and sending out owls posed a safety risk that Frau Weber was not willing to take. The use of magic, at least by wand, was also strictly limited. Though Kasia had recently reached her majority at 17 (as had Johannes before his untimely demise), the rest of the children were underage. Wand use and large magical signatures were being tracked, and so their travel was straddling the line between magical (the caravan, the mages, the magical heidrun goats disguised as cows) and muggle (traveling at the goats natural movement speed and labor completed manually wherever possible.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frau Weber did have a wand of her own as it turned out, a relic from attending Durmstrang in her youth, but preferred to use what she called her talisman to perform magic. They traveled from dusk until dawn, primarily when the children slept, and made camp every day to allow everyone sunlight and fresh air during their chores and lessons. Ever the consummate student, Hermione thrilled in learning the unfamiliar- though it wasn’t without frustration. As she had quickly established, Frau Weber’s magic was different from what Hermione had been learning and practicing for approximately a decade- more like the magic of a hedgewitch. On a superficial level, the biggest difference was that Hermione’s visible magic was light based while the hedgewitch magic was smoke based. The magic didn’t rely on established words and movement to be performed- even the wandless magic she could manage required that as a basis. Instead it needed focus and intent.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Objectively it was straightforward. But intuitive magic had always been more of Harry’s thing, not Hermione’s. It reminded her a lot of flying lessons- though she eventually got the hang of it, she was wobbly and never quite as confident as she should be. This gave her some hope that it would eventually click for her, but it didn’t make the learning process any less frustrating. She had been given a crystal as a talisman, which seemed almost embarrassingly plain in comparison to the other students. There seemed to be a rainbow of stones- golden carnelian, rounded and smooth; an oblong citrine, warm and yellow; shining moss agate. Hermione had been given a thin square of transparent calcite, perhaps five-by-five centimeters in measurement and two centimeters thick. While its transparency was beautiful in a way, she couldn’t help but feel that it was best put to use as a way to ground herself back in reality- clutching it so that the corners dug almost painfully into the meat of her palm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Today they made camp within the treeline. Upon consulting a map with Frau Weber, Kasia reports that they were going to be approaching the north coastline of Germany within a week or so. Frau Weber had a contact there who would be able to ferry them to Hull in England, upon which their remaining travel could easily be supplemented with magic to hasten their arrival in Hogsmeade. Frau Weber informed her that the land, which had been noticeably flattening as they traveled further and further from the mountains in the south, would also soon be less densely wooded. As such, Hermione was asked (told, really) to cut three times as much wood to ensure they would have enough supply to last the remainder of their trip.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their resting destination must have been chosen with some forethought, as there were ample resources for Hermione to work with. There was a stump nearby, from a tree falling, that had enough of a flat surface that she should be able to split wood on. Thanks to one of Frau Weber’s unorthodox potions, she was a touch more energetic and felt stronger than usual, and was certainly prepared to tackle her workload. The boys near Lotte’s age, Akiva and Giselher, joined her to move the split logs into storage as they fell, creating an efficient system that sped the process up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chopping wood had become surprisingly meditative for Hermione. It was physically taxing and gave her blisters, but it had also rapidly been strengthening her arms and shoulders and given her a desperately needed outlet to clear her thoughts. The boys kept up a steady stream of chatter with her and each other in broken English. Their native German dialects were too strong for Hermione to practice with them, so instead she used this opportunity to help prepare them for being surrounded by English language speakers in Hogwarts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Time passed quickly, the speckles of sunlight dancing across the forest floor wherever it could find breaks in the canopy. This was a relatively young growth wood, all thin trunks and comfortable space between them. Ideal for hard manual labor, really, with the punishing heat of the sun blocked above, but copious space for a refreshing breeze to weave through the trees and chill their sweating bodies. Akiva and Giselher tired soon enough and made a leisurely retreat back into the caravan in anticipation of dinner’s rapid approach. Hermione heard Kasia’s reproachful tone near the door, one of the boys had likely bumped her, and took a break to see her friend approach with a large ceramic mug.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Some refreshment, courtesy of Gertha and Beyla,” she cheerily announced, thrusting the mug into Hermione’s hands. Gertha and Beyla were the heidrun goats, for all appearances perfectly mundane save for the mead produced by their teats and the other magical abilities she had been assured existed but had yet to see. Kasia patiently waited as she took three deep drafts of the fragrant mead before pulling it from Hermione’s hands to take a sip of her own, holding onto it as the older witch went back to her chore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It really is amazing,” Kasia began slowly and clearly, having switched to German for practice with Hermione, “just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> you look like Hanni with your hair cut.” The English witch raised an eyebrow but let her continue. “From behind, most obviously. Your curls and your dark eyes, even your jawline- maybe you are not a perfect match, but you could easily be a Hausmannin sibling or cousin.” Hermione considered for a moment but found she had to agree. There were enough similarities that would give this charade a reasonable chance to work. They were no Weasley siblings, all seven of them so clearly put together from pieces of Arthur and Molly that the relation would be unquestionable even without the matching heads of red hair. But magic didn’t outright trump genetics, and plenty of siblings only had a passing resemblance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Looking like him is good,” was her response, less halting than even a few days before, “but it will be hard to act like him. It is good that no one in Scotland knows the Hausmannin family.” Kasia furrowed her brow at this, stealing another quick sip of the mead before setting the mug down and helping her stow away the logs that had piled up in the boys’ absence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you are doing a good job of acting like him already, if a bit detached from Lotte. He was passionate and loyal, as you have experienced- maybe to a fault. He had such a thirst for knowledge and always had his nose in a book if he wasn’t helping Lotte around or spending time with her. Your magic feels very similar too- like fire and electricity.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He is also-” Hermione broke off, frustrated by her still limited vocabulary. Huffing a sigh and wiping the sweat from her brow, she switched to a slow English, “He is aggravating and he is mad. He swings from one mood to another, cold then angry and loud then calm and loving if Lotte or Frau Weber are around. He is hard to be around.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kasia hummed in consideration, continuing their conversation in her accented German, “He was killed in a fight, as you know. My theory is that this echoes into his unlife- when he died he was angry about the ambush, scared of dying and of leaving his last family member behind, his sister who he loved and gave his life for. He has some peace knowing she is alive, and maybe more peace being tethered to you and being able to be near to her. I am sure he worries about what it would mean if you would walk away- how far can you go while he stays in place? His anger was always born out of fear when I knew him. I’m sure if he had died reading a book you would be getting to know a very different Hanni.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione chewed on her lip, deep in thought. The younger witch did have a valid point, she found herself thinking of Professor Binns, who transitioned from living to dead with little regard and continued to follow his schedule with no plan to retire- he should be alive now, in fact, and would likely be teaching all of them in less than a month’s time. She felt herself pale when her next thought turned to poor Moaning Myrtle, pubescent and moody for all eternity, and only very recently killed. Her throat went dry as she forced herself to acknowledge that she would be attending Hogwarts as a peer of Tom Riddle for potentially a full year. Hopefully it would be less, assuming Harry might be on time or even early for once in his life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grabbed at the ceramic mug with a shaky hand, gulping at the sweet liquid for strength while her left hand dipped into her pocket and clutched at her calcite, focusing her thoughts on the feel of the corners pressing into the skin of her hand. She would need to start planning for a year of staying off of young Voldemort’s radar, let alone any other person she might know in the future. Especially those with long memories- Dumbledore came to mind. But the planning could wait for later, when she wasn’t exposed and inexplicably freezing in the middle of a warm forest. She could feel Kasia’s warm hand press onto her upper back just below her nape, vividly aware of the feeling of her sweat being absorbed into the cotton weave of her shirt. She shot the girl a nod, grateful for an additional point to ground her back in the moment but unwilling to elaborate on what was causing this reaction.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath, relishing in the stretch and expansion of her ribs, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to focus on some of the exercises Frau Weber had them do to channel their hedge magic. Her ears focused on the leaves and underbrush rustling in the wind, on the endless drone of bugs filling in the blanks, the occasional bird calling deeper in the wood. With each inhale Hermione focused on the vivacious green smell of nature growing around her, the clean pine wafting from overhead, the distant grass baking under the unrelenting sun beyond the treeline, the sweet rot of fallen leaves and needles below. She focused on the feel of the breeze caressing her bared skin, the rhythmic tussling of her short curls, the corners of her calcite, the heat and pressure of the hand connecting her to her silent friend behind her. The feel of a singular drop of sweat carving a path from her hair line, around the bump on the bridge of her nose, diminishing somewhere in the crease between her nostril and cheek. On her next inhale, she smelled something suddenly new. It was the smell of wormwood, herbaceous and savory, but faint- like the ghost of a scent.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She felt oddly agitated by that thought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Opening her eyes, Hermione couldn’t spy the shaggy plant or its yellow flowers anywhere. Frau Weber had her on a steady regime of the odd broth-potion that stabilized her connection to Johannes, and as time wore on she would occasionally get a passing spectre of his odd floral divination- a diluted scent on the air, or an unclear shadow of a blossom unfurling on a breath. He hadn’t exactly gotten around to providing her with an encyclopedia of floral meanings, but she couldn’t shake that this scent in particular was an omen or a warning.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clucking filled the otherwise silent air. Hermione puzzled at the lack of chickens in their vicinity for a moment until she saw the sudden pallor of her companion. “It’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Erdhennen.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Some kind of danger is approaching,” Kasia whispered to her, lowering her hand from Hermione’s back to slowly grip at her wand. The English witch tightened her grip on the haft of her ax, flinching minutely at the sound of her minutely yanking it from where she had embedded it in the stump during her break. The hand in her pocket released the calcite, blood rushing into her fingertips as she discreetly grabbed onto Johannes’ wand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The volume of the clucking seemed to crescendo and all at once two figures dropped their disillusionment out in the woods. To her left, Hermione heard the caravan door swing open with a loud crash as Frau Weber moved with unexpected haste to assume a defensive position near them. Like the calm before the storm, all five of them stood as still as statues considering each other. The men in the woods were dressed as only purebloods might, long wizarding robes that looked absolutely stifling in the heat of summer. Based on what she could make out of the elder witch’s face from the corner of her eye, these weren’t men that Frau Weber knew. Based on </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> expression they seemed almost surprised at discovering the caravan and the three mages before it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frau Weber commanded attention, posture stiff and upright with magic creating a tangible aura around her. The men didn’t seem to consider her a threat, as their own rigid postures seemed to relax minutely upon determining that she neither held a wand nor hand one readily visible. This would be their advantage.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With an almost imperceptible twitch of his wand, the man on the right silently launched a bright red spell towards Hermione and Kasia and the battle began. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank goodness for muscle memory</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hermione thought derisively. The only instincts she really had were from war, but that would at least be to her advantage. She pushed her friend aside, crouching into the other direction to take partial cover behind a tree. With a fluid motion of her wand, she launched the turquoise light of an </span>
  <em>
    <span>Impedimenta</span>
  </em>
  <span> at them, watching as it missed one man but hit the other.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The smoke of Frau Weber’s magic shot at the free moving man, knocking him off his feet and propelling him further into the woods just at the frozen man seemed to regain himself and roll behind a tree of his own. Somewhere to her left she heard Kasia call out a stinging jinx, and she saw the white light lance deeper into the forest. A harsh cry told them it found its mark. Hermione’s earlier victim stepped forward, the tip of his wand lit with a fiery orange that could only spell trouble as surrounded as they were by flammable things.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A thick purple smoke darted towards him before he could complete his curse, wrapping around his throat and face like a writhing scarf. She wasn’t sure what this spell did exactly, though she got the feeling it was uncomfortable at best and painful at worst based on the frantic scramble of his hands clawing at the smoke over his face and throat. Hermione dashed to another tree further out from the caravan as he fell to his knees, finally finding an angle that revealed the other man. His face seemed to be a singular red welt, right eye swollen shut, but he was up and moving and focused entirely on Kasia and Frau Weber who were more than happy to keep him distracted. With a slash Hermione blindly cast a powerful severing charm at the branches of the tree above him, sighing with relief as a branch fell on the wizard’s head and rendered him unconscious. A surreptitious look around the other side of her tree showed that the other man had been knocked out by the purple smoke as well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thin tendrils of brown smoke drifted along the forest floor, pulling at the bodies of the two prone men to bring them closer and bind them together. Frau Weber and Kasia stepped into view, the former shrinking back into herself and looking the part of an old woman once more. “We’ll need to remove their memory of meeting us,” she warbled in German, bringing her arm around Kasia’s taller form and hugging her shaking frame close.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione swallowed the knot in her throat and rasped her reply in English, “I will take care of that.” She was still haunted by the irreversible obliviation of her parents and knew that her psyche would make her pay for this later. Like all of her other problems, she stamped her thoughts and feelings down and instead focused on the evidence that she could do this and do it right. This was just another way to help pull her own weight around here. Not a problem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pointing her wand at the first man’s temple, she heaved a deep breath and closed her eyes against the gentle green of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Obliviate</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Shaking somewhat more on the second go, she made quick work of the second man and walked back towards the other witches. Frau Weber’s sharp eyes caught her own and without words the elderly witch seemed to understand that she had a history with this spell. Her brown eyes softened and filled with warmth, and Hermione suddenly felt chafed and raw. She couldn’t take softness and sympathy right now, this really was a most inconvenient time to have an emotional breakdown. There was time for that later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Swinging her gaze back towards the stump, Hermione pocketed her wand and marched a wide bow around the other two witches to retrieve the mug of mead, downing the now-warm liquid left within. The brief fight was choked with magic and no back-up had shown up even now, so she thought a resounding </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck it</span>
  </em>
  <span> and swept her wand to magically cut the remaining wood and store it, before continuing her march into the caravan. She swept down the hall to the sitting room she still slept in and planted herself on the couch, picking up her unfinished book of medicinal herbs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She heard the murmurs of the children still gathered in the kitchen and felt the caravan lurch into a faster movement than usual, Frau Weber clearly equally keen to put this place far behind them. Lotte crept into the room and settled onto the seat next to her. With delicate movements the young girl settled into a lean against her, a small weight, comforting and quiet. She felt the chill of Johannes’ presence on her other side, huffing a startled laugh when his fingers plucked at a short curl and sent a chill down her spine. He settled into a float beside her, equally quiet as his sister. All three sets of eyes settled on the text, and Hermione let herself relax to the thought that the three of them really could pass for siblings.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>How do you even write action? I dunno. We've got another chapter or two of travel, but we'll at least be in the UK next chapter! Meeting Tom is also fast approaching, aaaaah.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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